Fondu au Noir
by Loud Mucker Complex
Summary: "You don't understand, Francis. You don't." Arthur could only cry into his palms, receiving nothing but silence in return. FrUK. Another song-fic.


Fondu Au Noir

**Title:**Fondu au Noir/Melted to Black

**Author:**Loud Mucker Complex

**Chapter:**1/1

**Rating/Genre:**T/angst, romance, drama

**Fandom(s):**Hetalia © Hidekaz Himaruya

**Warnings:**Not much, just the angst and yaoi

**Character(s):**England/Britain, France

**Pairing(s):**FrUK

**Comments:**Apparently, the title is taken from Coeur de Pirate's song, Fondu au noir, and this is another a-not-really-song-fic… believe me, the song kills in a very sad, sad way

**Summary:**_"__You__don__'__t__understand,__Francis.__You__don__'__t,__" __you__cried__hard__into__your__palms.__Again,__you__were__alone__in__the__darkness,__all__black.__ "__It__hurts__… __it__hurts.__It__'__s__hurting__so__much,__it__kills.__I__'__m__dying,__Francis,__don__'__t__you__care?__"_

Holy Disclaimer:

I APPARENTLY OWN **NOTHING****BUT****THE** **STORY**

_This is just a **fiction**, I do not own **anything****else****.****The****fandoms****belong****to****their****creator,**I'm just using the characters and add a litte bit (or a lot of) gayness. I really have no idea if there's a fic titled this anywhere else. This story has **nothing** related to real life. _

_Fondu au Noir; Melted to Black_

**Dors, le mal est passé et tu entres dans la dense**

**Sleep, the worst is over and you enter the dance**

He had always been watching him. Those emerald orbs had always been watching how those lips curved into a sweet smile, even if it was hard for him to do. The other man... he was far, far outside, under the warm sunlight. The vast distance between them wouldn't be revealed until he touched the clean transparency of the windowpanes. They may be clear, but when Arthur touched them, it only made him realize how far apart they were. It only made his heart ache. The transparent glass made him realize the different worlds they were living in. The British boy hated how those transparent things could hurt his feelings so deeply.

**Le pire de côte, ta revende en cadence**

**The worst aside, you sell yourself to the rhythm**

Everything in the room was white. The curtain, the sheets, the windowsills, the slippers, the walls, and the ceiling were all white. You, your face was white, too. Your nails were white. You were so white that you looked dead. You were so pale that your parents would cry when they saw you like this; sitting on the white bed with your white sheets and a clear piece of tubing piercing the back of your left hand, telling them how ill you were in hissing little whispers as liquids flowed freely to and fro. When your dying body was too tired to sit any longer, you threw yourself to the pillows, drowning in them, drowning in the relaxing world where everything was possible.

**Tu sèmes le bonheur à chaque pas que tu fais**

**You sow happiness with every step you make**

You never told yourself that these were only dreams. Because if you did so, it would only hurt you again, like how the glass of the windows did, only worse. You called these happy — yet unreal — moments 'Happiness'. The 'Happiness' that you couldn't reach in the cruel, cruel real life. In the 'Happiness' that was swimming around in your mind, everything wasn't white. _Nothing_ was white. Everything was colourful; everything was touched lovingly with soft shades of pastel, treating your eyes with such beauty. With every step you took on the long path, your body felt light, as if you were a butterfly. And then there he was. Him, standing there on the brim of the small path formed by roses, waiting for you to take his outstretched hand.

**Et à ton réveil la vie reprend son train**

**And when you wake up, life continues**

The curved path didn't matter to you as long as you could still reach him. This was the only way for you to feel him. You ran, letting the wind with the smell of roses stroke your face as you neared him. Closer and closer. It was a real bliss knowing that the path wasn't getting longer like the ones in your bad dreams. And you didn't feel tired at all when he was finally in front of you, smiling in the way that made you fall in love with him two years ago. You took his hand. It was slightly calloused, yet warm. Your heart started pounding like mad. You thought you were going to die in that moment, but no. He pulled your figure into an embrace and tilted your chin, letting you see that thin layer of hair under his smiling lips. And you were so close. So very, very close. But when your lips — his lips and your lips — were so close to touching and melting together... it all ends.

**Certes tu passe comme de l'air, dans un monde sans musique**

**For sure you're gone with the wind, in a world without music**

Today, you were feeling really great when you woke up. You felt that the unseen burden on your shoulders had gone away with the rest of your illness. "So those bad-tasting medicines and shots are working after all, huh?" you said to yourself. Maybe you could go out today. Though, for sure, you'd need a wheelchair to help you. You hadn't been walking for months. The last attempt was a complete failure; you felt dizzy shortly after taking two small steps. But that was okay. The wheelchair was fine. At least you could still see. At least you were feeling decent. At least you were going to meet him, or at least see him from a shorter distance. You mouthed your urge out loud to the nurse clad in white when she entered your room for her dutiful, six-hourly check-up.

**Déprovu de tes nuances, un peu trop spécifiques**

**Without your shades a bit too specific**

With every spin of the wheel of the wheelchair that you sat on, your heart beat faster. Even though you couldn't fully savor the warmth of the nine o'clock sunlight because of the white blanket on your shoulders, you were still smiling. It was okay. This was okay. What could happen to make today better? Oh, you knew: his presence. If it didn't rain — oh, how you hoped it wouldn't — he would come just like usual. 11 am was the time when he would stop by the hospital's front yard to play with his guitar, making smiles on sick people's faces. You silently hoped that he would play for you. Two more hours to wait; such a short amount of time to spend outside. In your room, every second was agonizing with nothing to pay attention to. Outside, there were a group of old people talking about their young days, a flock of butterflies near the daffodil pots and envious kids with broken legs regretting riding their bikes so fast. And there, behind the wooden fences, it was him, walking with his guitar as his golden hair shone under the light. It was barely half-past nine.

**Tu nages en douleur et il est presque temps**

**You swim in pain and it's almost time**

The nurse had long since left you alone on the green front yard. Now you were the one who was envious. The old people and kids had approached him so easily and friendlily, waving hellos and forming a circle around the man you'd longed for. He greeted them in a thick French accent, smiling and asking what song he should play this time. Your pale fingertips were already touching the cold wheels on your chair when his eyes caught yours. He smiled widely and waved, "Hello, there! Would you come and join us? Even though I don't play that well." It was a miracle for you. He waved and talked to you. He really, really did. And he smiled at you. That same, unchanging sweet smile. Your hands were already gripping the steel wheel and you were ready to meet him and listen to his voice when, suddenly, from the edge of your vision, you saw the fabric on your lap was turning red. Blood was gushing down your chin from your nose. The last thing that you saw before a screen of foggy, all-encompassing black was his terrified face. The hurt feeling in your chest was the one you hated the most, throwing aside all the pain in your entire body. "It hurt... it hurt."

**De fermer les yeux, dans la mort qui t'attends**

**To close your eyes in the death that awaits you**

You were sitting in the darkness. You were sitting in a deafening silence and a steeping darkness long enough to think that this was another nightmare. But then you saw light, a dim, yellow candle light. It slowly grew bigger and nearer. Then you could see the face of the man holding it. It was him. He was there to save you.

"Hey. Can I sit beside you?"

"Sure."

He sat down quietly, near enough to let you smell his tender scent. He then looked into your emerald eyes (somewhat dulled from the sickness) for some time, chuckling a little not long after he studied your entire face.

"You've got a quite pair of eyebrows there, _petit__garçon__._"

A sensitive topic of course. But it had been two years since someone last remarked upon them, and even though you knew it should have made you cringe or shout angrily, you didn't react like that. You didn't react normally. Of course not. You were _so__sure_ that if you got angry, he would disappear. No, you didn't want that. You'd savor every moment if possible. You'd try to capture his face and memorize it so when you were lonely, the memory of his face would bring you to smile. But then, without an unknown reason, he blew the candle out after gripping your hand tight in his.

"We're going to fall, so hold on tight and close your eyes, Arthur."

Even without you closing your eyes, you couldn't see a thing. You felt fear crawling into your chest. The fear of him letting go.

"Don't let go, please. I beg you."

"I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I can't go with you."

"No! You said to hold on tight!"

"Goodbye, Arthur."

"No!" A name flashed in your mind like lightning. _"__Francis!__No!__"_

Your hand was cold without his holding it. It was so cold in your crying mother's hand too.

**Et si ça fait mal c'est parce qu'il comprend pas**

**And if it hurts it's because he doesn't understand**

"You don't understand, Francis. You don't," you cried hard into your palms. Again, you were alone in the darkness, all black. "It hurts… it hurts. It's hurting so much, it kills. I'm dying, Francis, don't you care?"

**Que nul ne nage dans ton cœur depuis longtemps**

**That no one has swum in your heart for so long**

Francis indeed didn't understand. The French man of course didn't understand. Because you haven't told him those words, Arthur. You haven't. You couldn't. You wanted to, but you couldn't. You weren't allowed to. The man with blue eyes, the man who had been swimming in your heart for two years, had let your hand go. Because he didn't understand. Because he didn't know. Because you had always been caged in that white room and did nothing. And now you were caged in the darkness, as if melting into black.

**Et si ça fait mal c'est parce qu'il te voit pas**

**And if it hurts it's because he doesn't see you**

"It hurt when you didn't see me," you choked. No echo, no answer, nothing afterward. "Why didn't you see through those stupid, bloody windows of mine?" You wanted, more than anything, in that moment, to shatter them to pieces. "It hurt... and it's still hurting me."

**Alors que ton sourire enfin s'éteindra**

**While your smile will eventually fade away**

There was one time when Arthur thought he was finally visible enough for Francis to see. But when he left without any sort of acknowledgement, the excitement that filled Arthur's heart with anticipation faded away like drifting smoke.

**Dors, le mal est passé, il te rattrapera pas**

**Sleep, the worst is over, it won't get you**

When you opened your eyes the next moment, it was really bright. You could see the bright blue sky decorated with fluffy-looking clouds. You felt great. You felt better. You felt refreshed. The nightmares were all over, right? There wouldn't be any nightmare after the worst. Your burden had all gone away like a hurricane. Now, there were only the sunlight and peacefulness left to feel and to enjoy. But your eyes were still looking for him. He should be here, shouldn't he?

**Le souffle coupé, tu n'es plus son appât**

**Out of breath, you're no longer its prey**

"You are experiencing the 'Happiness' again!" That was what you told yourself joyously as you float in the air, flying without wings. Then you flew higher still, trying to find the large hospital where you would find Francis and his guitar. It was still there, you thought, as you flew lower. But something was happening. There was a crowd of people wearing black and there was someone in a white coffin. You suddenly felt like your heart was going to stop beating from the shock, finding that that someone was yourself, but it didn't. Your heart wasn't even beating. You weren't even breathing anymore.

**Ta peine s'est fendue au délire des autres**

**Your efforts are useless to the madness of others**

You didn't need someone to explain the situation. It was obvious enough, piercing your heart. The scene under you. The crying people, the black clothes, the white lilies, the surrounding dead trees and your dead body. You flew closer and found your mother kneeling beside your coffin, crying so hard, repeating only one word; sorry.

"I'm sorry... sorry, sorry. I'm so, so sorry, Arthur... I'm sorry..."

"Mum... hey, mum, I'm here. I'm right here!"

"I'm sorry... I'm sorry..."

You tried to hug her but it failed. She kept crying harder and harder. A big, familiar hand squeezed her shoulder in a soothing way. But your dad's hand was also trembling.

"Dad! Dad, I'm here. Hey... hey, I'm here... everyone!"

But it was no use. No one could hear you nor see you. Not a single soul.

**Qui oublieront bien vite que tu n'es plus des nôtres**

**Who will forget quite quickly that you're no longer one of us**

Then you stared blankly at your dead body which was clad in a white suit you had never seen before. Why was everything white? You almost hated white. The lilies, the suit, the silky fabric that covered the insides of the coffin, they were all white. Slowly, though, your funeral went. You pondered through the process. Who would forget me after this? What would happen to my parents after this?

**Et si ça fait mal c'est parce qu'il comprend pas**

**And if it hurts it's because he doesn't understand**

You had watched all the agony. It still felt surreal that you were actually watching your own funeral. Some of your friends and classmates from school stayed a little longer to apologize to you. The sky got darker and you decided to leave. But when you turned, there he was. There. It was him, standing in a black suit with a bucket of white lilies in hand. "Francis… I'm here."

**Que nul ne nage dans ton cœur depuis longtemps**

**That no one has swum in your heart for so long**

"I love you. I love you, Francis. I really do." You hugged him as hard as you could, but he didn't even flinch. He only stared into your fresh grave with those sad blue eyes. The look upon his face looked as if he had known you for ages. The look upon his face looked as if… as if he was your friend.

**Et si ça fait mal c'est parce qu'il te voit pas**

**And if it hurts it's because he doesn't see you**

You were right in front of him. You were hugging him tight like you'd never let go. You were saying those three words on loop, like a broken record repeating itself to an empty room. You were shouting, yelling right in front of his ear. But he didn't see you. He didn't hear you. And it hurt. You felt like crying.

**Alors que ton sourire enfin s'éteindra**

**While your smile will eventually fade away**

"I love you..." you whispered as you watched him walk away under the orange light of sunset. "I love you..." You sat on the dirt where you were buried for hours. "I love you..." Once again, you were swallowed into the darkness. You melt away with every memory of him.

**~END~**

**A/N:**Hi! Still Sacchan here and this is my second English fanfiction for Hetalia fandom. Yup. So. I think this one is also average. I do feel like I've achieved something new, but it didn't feel that great. Huh. Buuut that's when this story hasn't been edited. With the awesome brains of **dellums** (my lovely, awesometastic friend) this story shall be better! HAHAHA. I'm so lame. So, let's see here… I think Arthur was having blood cancer or something. I once read a comic and the main character was having this sickness, and he had a reeeaaal huuuge nosebleed. Like, the blood was really gushing out like water from the sink. Something like that. And I'd like to see Arthur like that. /shot/ Well, maybe for a different reason… (like, because of seeing Francis in a particular pose? XD) And once again, **the****lyrics****aren****'****t****mine**, they're Coeur de Pirate's. This story is finished in five hours. I'm gonna join Arthur in the coffin now.

**Say thanks to:**

Coeur de Pirate – Fondu au noir

2NE1 – I am the best

Aaaand all the candies and cookies I ate

… and YOU who has read and review! *LOVELOVE*

**Reviews down here, ****ありがとう****!**


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